Letter+to+My+Absent+Brother

=Letter to My Absent Brother= By Sandy Foster

Dear Tom,

It’s been a long while since I’ve written – more than five years, to be exact, but you’ve been on my mind a lot lately. It seems everywhere I go, there you are. Today I explored the town of Buhler, far away from your mountains of Colorado, yet every store contained something that reminded me so much of you. Probably because your birthday is Sunday. Buhler has a quaint downtown district that reminds me of Evergreen when we used to go there as kids. Boy, some memories in those annual vacations, huh? Remember the Dillon’s recreation ranch, the horseback rides (or, in your case, the donkey ride that about took your head off when it ran into the barn with the low-hanging roof!), the trout fishing, and that little taffy store? We would stand and watch the taffy pull through the window, mouths watering as we selected the mixed flavors to take with us. Funny how none of that taffy ever made it all the way back home to Kansas. The Rustic Edge store in Buhler is Colorado through-and-through. The refreshing aroma of pine – maybe it was just in my imagination – permeated the air as I browsed this store. It reminded me so much of hiking up the mountain behind your house, taking Sam trout fishing in a secluded mountain stream, or exploring abandoned cabins in the far reaches of the mountaintops. Adrian’s Boutique, a gift store you would probably avoid, even contained a variety of items that made me think of you. Porcelain figurines prominently displayed for Father’s Day reminded me of you when Sam was small. One figurine was of a father sitting with outstretched arms on his knees, cradling his newborn child. I remember how very much you wanted a child and how difficult it was for Mary Jo to conceive. I hope you told Sam early and often just how much he was wanted. Another figurine showed a father walking alongside a larger boy, his arm gently resting on the boy’s shoulder, as if giving him some important father-son advice. This same store displayed the very plaque that you had displayed over the couch in your old Salida house: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord”. You know, when I first saw that hanging on the wall at your house, it opened up a new perspective of you in your adult life. We really didn’t have nearly enough face-to-face opportunities to share our adult lives once you moved away. Buhler also has a wonderful art gallery, especially for such a small town. The gallery displays various mediums from area artists. One artist painted deviations of roads, the titles of which completed the analogy to life. Each featured a different type of road, from a winding country dirt road, to a straight and narrow highway disappearing into the distance, to the rocky, hilly road. Each painting represented our paths in life. Our two roads certainly diverged into separate paths – me taking the safe, secure paved road while your adventurous side took you elsewhere. I must tell you, however, that when our roads crossed that Christmas you hosted the family dinner, your sense of adventure was contagious! Who’d have thought we’d convince the entire family – what were there, fourteen or fifteen of us – to climb onto snowmobiles on Christmas morning! What with your love for speed and familiarity with the machines, you had me scared to death! And I know for a fact after Karen and Jill steered into that tree, you’ll never see them climb on one again! Nor will I, brother Tom, despite your insistence that snowmobiling is better than the slopes. I think I’ll stick to skiing. Remember when we returned, we realized Mom had accidentally left the camera on all day filming the wall until she ran the battery down? That Christmas is one I’ll never forget. The glass blower of Buhler also displays some of his work at this gallery, but the piece that reminded me of you sat on a cement floor in his shop a couple of blocks away. There, lying on the floor in a row with several replicas of the same type of piece, was an ostrich- egg-sized blown glass encompassing a twirling ribbon that ended halfway up the length of the glass. There the ribbon was cut short. Once again, a reminder of how our brother-sister relationship was cut short. Not that I’m blaming you, of course. Our roads in life have certainly taken different routes, but surely you know how similar many of our experiences were. We weren’t all that different in the things that matter, like family. I have tried to stay connected to Sam, you know – maybe he’s told you. I really am proud of him for stepping up and taking responsibility for his son. I know he hasn’t fulfilled your dreams for him to finish college, but give him a break. He was just a senior and hadn’t even graduated when you moved on. He attempted college, but after you left, his life was a mess. He was searching for answers to questions to which only God knows the answers. College isn’t for everyone, you know. I can remember you saying that very thing to Mom and Dad yourself. In fact, Sam is so much like you were at his age. Maybe that’s why you were so hard on him, expecting more than he was capable of giving at the time. But he has a decent job and works hard to provide for that grandson of yours. I guess the last time I saw you was Thanksgiving, 2001, at Karen’s house in Kansas City. Remember taking us to see the Plaza lights? Once again, you had me scared to death with your aggressive city driving. I’m sure the Plaza lights were impressive, but I was so tense in the back seat, I couldn’t really enjoy the sights. Maybe someday I’ll go back there again when I can enjoy the scenery without recalling that bittersweet holiday of 2001. I have pictures of that holiday, with Mom and Dad, you and Mary Jo, Karen and Dale, and David and me. There is one picture that I look at frequently. It shows Mom and Dad sitting on the couch, with you sitting on the floor in front of them, and Mary Jo on the other end of the couch. Everyone is relaxed and laughing except Mary Jo, whose expression is strained. And although you have a smile on your face, your eyes seem tired or sad. It wasn’t until later that I realized how much stress your marriage was under. It was just three weeks later that you left suddenly, without so much as a warning or goodbye, and I haven’t seen you since. For several months I would look at those pictures and wonder if I’d ever see Mom and Dad smile again. Perhaps I should catch you up on what’s been going on since you left. Well, a month after you left, David and I returned to Karen’s for a weekend, but before the weekend was out, Dad called from back home to let us know that Mom had had a massive heart attack. The doctors suspected she had a blood clot from her hip surgery the previous summer, but we are all convinced it was quite simply a broken heart. We lost her, you know, but the doctors managed to bring her back. In Wichita they inserted a stint, but she suffered much damage to her heart. Maybe you’re already aware of all this. Then in May we came out to Salida to celebrate with Sam as he graduated. You missed an important time in his life, but you would have been proud. (Probably not so proud of his partying and spending ways, but in the fact that he graduated with good grades.) In July of that year, Farrah and Brent were married and have since had two children, Caleb and Tessa. Of course, I think they are adorable. I’d send you pictures if I knew where to send them. Dustin joined the Marines and was a part of the takedown of Sadaam. After his tour in Iraq, he returned to the States and married Stephanie, another Marine. They have since joined the Navy and had baby Scarlet. What a little cherub she is! After months and months of recuperation, Mom was finally able to have the back surgery she had been cleared for before she was struck down with the heart attack. Now she is able to move around so much better than before. She and Dad still plant a prolific garden, and with all the yard work besides, they have just about more than they can keep up with. Uncle Tom bought Dad a riding lawn mower, and I gotta tell ‘ya, I thought you were crazy allowing Sam to drive that three-wheeler in Colorado when he was only five or six, but now I’d trust that 5-year-old Sam on a three-wheeler more than I would Dad on that touchy riding lawn mower! I guess Dad was a bit overwhelmed with it, too, because he has since sold it. Thankfully Mom and Dad are in fairly good health and they stay relatively active. I’m really sorry I’ve taken so long to tell you how much I miss you, Tom. When you left I would send flowers each month, but people told me I shouldn’t put myself through so much pain. Your absence left such a void. And when I would go to your new place, I was met with such a cold, stony silence, that I stopped going so often. You were never there anyway. I think about you every day and wonder when we’ll be together to catch up face-to-face. I just wanted to tell you happy birthday on Sunday. I know you don’t celebrate birthdays anymore, but I still do. It is still just incomprehensible to me that you will remain 47 forever, and now I – your once younger sis- am older than you. That’s just not the way life is supposed to be. Sometimes, like today, I feel your presence, ever fleeting, as if you are just around the corner in front of me, but I can never catch up. I feel your nearness and truly believe you are my guardian angel. Tell Grandma and Granddad hello. We will meet up with you again sometime. I love you. That’s something I don’t think I ever said before you died.

Love,

Sis